bring charges where warranted. V.T. and “Newbury’s Gang” of retired NYPD detectives and eager young assistant district attorneys had already charged a dozen police officers and priests with a variety of crimes from malfeasance to assault. One of the main NYPD henchmen on Kane’s payroll, Detective Michael Flanagan, had pleaded guilty to murder and was at Rikers Island. He’d been willing to testify against Kane, but now that was moot.
“Jaxon was hoping you might be able to help,” Karp replied to Newbury. “But he’ll be visiting you himself; once burnt, twice remembered, he’s playing things a little close to the vest right now.”
“What I don’t get is why go through all that effort to find and kill Fey?” Murrow said. “I mean, I could understand if Kane was still in jail, awaiting trial, and was trying to knock off the witnesses. But it’s not like he’s helping his case now. Even if we had to drop the charges in Manhattan because of a witness’s death-and that’s not the case, we’ve got plenty to hang him without Fey-the feds certainly have enough from his escape to earn him a lethal dose in the execution chamber at the federal pen in Indiana.”
“This wasn’t about taking out a witness,” Karp replied. “This is about vengeance. That’s why the killer made sure he left the rosary. This is Kane playing his little game.”
“But what’s this game all about?” Murrow asked. “He’s working with some terrorist, but he also wants to kill our DA and everybody he knows.”
“What’s to understand?” Marlene said. “He’s a vicious, cruel animal and he wants to frighten and torment anybody who gets in his way, or he thinks betrayed him. The terrorists have a score or two to settle with Butch and the rest of us, too. What better bedfellows?”
“I can think of two,” Karp teased.
“Oh brother, big talker,” Marlene laughed, which helped break the tension.
“I just want you all to be careful,” Karp said as he passed out copies of the photograph of Azzam. “NYPD now has these, so do the feds. This, we think, is Samira Azzam. She’s the one who sprang Kane, and we assume she’s still working with him.”
“Who’s ‘we,’
“I could tell you but-” Karp smiled.
“Yeah, I know, you’d have to kill us.”
“You.”
“Me.”
“Anyway, Fey’s killer is described as tall, dark-haired with severe acne scars, a big guy. I’m not trying to alarm anybody, but Kane has made good on one of his threats, so it pays to be careful. There’ll be a few more cop drive-bys around your homes than you’re used to, and you might occasionally notice the presence of federal agents-probably disguised as homeless derelicts so give ’em a buck when you walk by.” Karp’s announcement was met with groans but, he noted, no one demanded that they be excluded from the added police surveillance.
When the meeting was over, Marlene jumped up to give him a kiss. “I’m off to see Daddy, and maybe Uncle Vlad,” she said with a mischievous grin.
“Uncle Vlad?” asked Guma, who remained seated, as did Murrow.
“An Old World family she’s become attached to,” Karp said.
Karp was relieved when Newbury interrupted the line of questioning by whistling over near the bookshelf. “Hey, where’d you get the Carlos Torres chess pieces?” he asked. He held up the black bishop that had been sitting on the reading table, but then held up a black knight as well.
“Carlos who?” Karp asked.
“Torres. He’s the artist who carves these, though they always come as a set, no two sets alike,” Newbury said.
“Never heard of him,” Guma said.
“Of course you wouldn’t have, you Neanderthal,” Newbury said. “But anybody who actually enjoys the more refined aspects of chess knows a Carlos Torres piece. The guy’s an artist and expensive. Depending on the material he uses-which could be anything from petrified ivory to sperm whales’ teeth, and gemstones he inlays- they can cost a hundred grand easy.”
“I thought the first one might be yours, and I guess the second, too, though this is the first I’ve seen it,” Karp said.
“I wish,” Newbury said. “But no, I haven’t succumbed to that sort of ostentatiousness, for God’s sake. I have a beautifully carved oak set by Hannah Aowyn, but they only run about twenty K.”
“Only,” Guma said.
Karp laughed. “It’s all relative, Goom. Anyway, I’ll have to ask Mrs. Milquetost if she knows anything about it.”
Newbury set the pieces down and left the room. But Guma and Murrow remained seated, obviously waiting for this moment alone. Karp raised his eyebrows and asked, “Yes?”
Guma cleared his throat. “I want you to do the Stavros trial with me.”
Karp looked from Guma to Murrow, from whom he expected an instant complaint. When one wasn’t forthcoming, Karp looked back at Guma and shook his head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. We’re already taking a lot of flak and I don’t want to turn this into more of a circus than it already is.”
He suggested Murray Osborn, an aggressive young ADA who was starting to make a name for himself in the homicide bureau. “He’s a lot like you and me, back in the day.”
“He’s good and will get better,” Guma conceded. “But I’m asking you.”
Before Karp could say anything, Guma got a surprising vote from Murrow. “It’s a great idea,” Murrow said, getting up to pace the room with his thumbs hooked into his omnipresent vest. “We cast this as: ‘District Attorney leads by example, helps prosecute rich white guy for a murder committed fourteen years ago.’ I can see the billboard now. ‘Nowhere to go. No place to hide. Sooner or later, if you do the crime, you’re going to do the time with Roger “Butch” Karp.’” He sighed happily.
“What about all the political fallout you were worried about before?” Karp asked.
“We’ll take some hits,” Murrow conceded. “But we already have, and I don’t see how Rachman can make it any worse. Plus, I think we’ll make inroads with that part of the voting public that thinks rich white guys always get away with murder.
“There’s a reason right there to stay out of this trial,” Karp said. “I wouldn’t want you turning this into a sideshow in the election campaign. Not to mention this is Guma’s case.”
“Sure, sure,” Murrow agreed. “I think that’s good. Guma does all the speaking to the press and you’re just helping out. It looks even better if you’re ‘just there to lend a hand to a colleague’ and avoiding grandstanding. Then the more Rachman criticizes your involvement, the more it will look like she’s blowing smoke and protecting a killer because of who he is in her party.”
“Look,” Karp shot back, “you wanting me to get involved in the risky biz of trying a high-profile case where the defendant could walk is totally counterintuitive coming from one bow-tied Gilbert Murrow. Moreover, we don’t try cases around here because it’s politically cool.”
Guma turned to Murrow and held up a hand. “Gilbert, would you mind if I talked to Mr. Clean here alone for a moment?”
Murrow clearly didn’t like it, but he left, closing the door behind him. They soon heard Mrs. Milquetost, who for some reason had adopted him as sort of a long lost son, cooing over him. She’d been known to bring him cookies she’d baked at home and had even brought one of her former husband’s bow ties as a gift when she noticed he favored them as a fashion statement.
“Why’s she so nice to Murrow?” Guma asked. “He boinkin’ little old ladies with Ariadne out of the country?”
“Maybe it’s because he comes off so well compared to you,” Karp suggested. “Cuddly, harmless gentleman as opposed to hairy, high-octane bull in the pasture. I’ve never understood why some little alarm bell doesn’t go
